Light A Roman Candle With Me
by burnithot
Summary: Collection of 30 one-shots. / Guilt washes over her as he continues, and her heart unexpectedly stutters with disappointment when he declines her offer.
1. Beginning

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Rookie Blue or the title of the story, which was inspired by the song of the same name by fun.

**Author's note: **This afternoon I stumbled upon a prompt on tumblr, and seeing as I am a relatively new fan of Rookie Blue, I decided I would give the prompt a go using Rookie Blue characters. I wrote this pretty quickly, so it might be a bit sloppy. I think it's fairly decent, though, considering it's my first time writing Rookie Blue fanfiction. I give my profuse thanks to anybody who gives their feedback, as reviews are greatly appreciated. Anyway, I hope my readers enjoy this!

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Prompt #1 – Beginning

"_That is a crappy lock."_

Her hands are shaking violently as she points the gun at the two men. "Don't move. Put your hands up," she orders a bit breathlessly. She can only hope that she sounds authoritative.

While the man on her right complies, the other man rises to his feet. He wears a casual expression of indifference, as if she doesn't daunt him in the slightest, and it infuriates her. "I said don't move! Stay where you are!" she yells.

The man looks almost amused. "See ya." And just like that, he slips out the opened window and takes off running.

"No, I… Stop!" Her face is flushed with irritation as she calls after him. Why does this have to happen on her _first_ day of being a police officer?

When he reappears, she feels a faint flicker of hope—that is, until he mutters, "Here we go," and snatches the second man by his arm and drags him along. Mumbling incoherently to herself, she hesitates for a heartbeat before following in pursuit.

"I said don't move!"

"Or what?" the man shouts back scathingly.

_God damnit. _She glances over her shoulder, back into the apartment and calls out desperately, "Traci! Traci!"

There's no response from her friend or from dispatch, so she scrambles helplessly down the fire escape.

xxx

She feels stupid and flustered and clueless after her brief encounter with the detective. _I can't do anything right,_ she thinks angrily as she makes her way down the alley. Upon hearing a voice that possibly sounds like the potential subject, however, she requests for backup and, gun in hand, corners the two men from the apartment. "Police! Don't move! Put your hands up right now… hurry up… NOW!"

The man who had led the runaway finally listens, and she nearly sighs in relief. "Put 'em against the fence, both of you," she commands. As she holsters her gun to check the man who is vocalizing his complaints, the first one bolts off. Again.

Fortunately, she doesn't have to run very far before she tackles him to the ground. Ignoring his groans of pain, she looks back at the other man. "Don't move! Get back to the fence right now!" she demands, and thankfully he obeys.

"You don't want to do this," says the man beneath her.

"Shut up. Turn over," she hisses indignantly. She feels a sense of triumph as she begins to cuff him.

The man, however, is persistent. "I'm serious. You've got to trust me…"

She scoffs at his ridiculous statement. "I'm serious, too. Now shut up. Resisting arrest… fleeing the scene…" Then she proceeds to pat him down, smirking when she finds the drugs in his back pocket. "Oh… possession!"

Disregarding his pain and his words, she hauls him to his feet and, with a victorious smile on her face, leads both of the men to where the squad cars await them.

xxx

Her pride overrides the momentary embarrassment of forgetting to turn her radio on. "Listen, I've made a couple of arrests," she excitedly tells Shaw. "They're in the back of the car."

"Arrests? For what?"

"Fleeing the scene, possession… One guy matches the subject description."

Shaw arches an eyebrow. "Really?" he chuckles, sounding skeptical, but she nods. "Okay. Yeah, let's get 'em back to the barn, yeah. I'm starving."

"Uh, because you said don't let anybody leave the scene—"

"I know what I said. What do you want? A cookie?" snorts Shaw while sliding into the car.

She does so as well, her lips pursed, and is befuddled by Shaw's behavior in the squad car but doesn't bother to probe further.

Her confusion increases tenfold when they get back to the station and Detective Barber greets the man she apprehended as if he were a long-lost friend. "You're a cop?" she says in disbelief.

xxx

Chaos erupts, and she feels like the biggest idiot on the planet.

Her skin is on fire, burning with humiliation as the man—Sam—chews her out in Boyko's office. She half-heartedly attempts to defend herself, though Sam will have none of it. He shouts at her and berates her and hurls sharp-tongued insults. Each one stings more than the next, and she barely suppresses a flinch as he stalks out with a snarky, "Thanks, pal. Friends forever!"

She really couldn't have screwed up more on her first day.

xxx

Although her first day has drained almost all of the energy she possesses from her bones, she musters all the courage she has left and approaches the previously undercover officer until she's standing beside him. "Hey, thanks for the tip today," she says shyly.

His dark, mysterious eyes that seem to dance with a hint of mischief appraise her. "Worked out pretty good," he remarks nonchalantly.

"Yeah," she agrees, smiling. "So can I buy you a drink? To say thank you, apologize…"

Instead of giving her a direct reply, he answers with a question of his own. "Anton Hill, you know who he is?"

The question baffles her, throws her off guard. She shakes her head and utters a soft 'no'. Guilt washes over her as he continues, and her heart unexpectedly stutters with disappointment when he declines her offer. "Okay," she murmurs in resignation, dejection seeping through her veins as she walks away.

Andy McNally returns to her original table, just in time to hear Chris and Dov pondering aloud about what Boyko had said earlier. _"Serve, protect, and…"_

"And don't screw up," she finishes with a sigh. Dov brushes off her fretful words by animatedly raving about her day of success, and she manages a small laugh. Her mind, however, can't help but to linger back to the man with the dark, mysterious eyes.

And yet, she remains completely and utterly oblivious to the same dark, mysterious eyes gazing intently at the back of her head.


	2. Accusation

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Rookie Blue.

**Author's note:** So I originally had no idea what to do for this prompt, but for some reason the tone of Sam's voice in the preview for tonight's episode just inspired me. I wanted to post this before the episode airs, seeing as obviously this is not how it will go on the show. This may seem simple and not very emotional, but I think I might have burst into tears myself if I tried to go into depth. Besides, I set myself a deadline and didn't give myself much time to write, hah. Also, thank you everybody for your feedback on the last one-shot, and I hope you review this one as well. Okay, rambling over; enjoy!

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Prompt #2 – Accusation

"_I can't be a cop and be with you."_

When his frustration finally spills over and he lashes out at her, it's like a blow to her stomach. The harshness of his voice is ringing in her ears, and his words seem almost like an accusation, as if everything is _her _fault.

Who knows? Maybe it is.

She bites her lip and tries to ignore the stinging in her eyes, tries to ignore her blurring vision. She's half-tempted to grab him by the shoulders and scream in his face, tell him that he's not the only one grieving here and that pushing her away isn't going to absolve their pain.

But she doesn't do that.

Instead, she shoves her hands in the pockets of her coat and looks up at him. "Okay. So what now?" she says hollowly.

He looks conflicted and vaguely confused, as if he isn't quite sure what his own words mean.

She doesn't feel like waiting around while he struggles for an answer, though, so she turns sharply on her heel and walks away from him. She stops only once to look back over her shoulder, sending him a final glance of resignation. Her heart weighs heavy in her chest as she trudges down the pavement, and she quickly swipes away the tear winding its way down her cheek.

She's sick of getting her heart broken.

She's sick of seeing the people she loves get hurt.

After mindlessly walking around for what feels like ages, she suddenly finds her feet coming to a stop. When she realizes where she is, she immediately collapses to the ground in front of his headstone. A strangled sob catches in her throat, but she manages to choke out, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." She gives in to the torrent of emotions churning within her, wrapping her arms around her legs and dropping her head to her knees. Her shoulders shake violently as she cries, and she wretchedly wonders why this had to happen to him.

She wants to rip her hair out, because it's all her fault. It's her fault that her best friend's fiancé is dead. It's her fault that everybody around her is suffering and mourning. If it weren't for her impulsiveness and persistence, he would still be here. He would still be _alive_. God, she hates more than anything that her instincts failed her, and that it resulted in such a fatal consequence.

_This isn't right,_ she thinks bitterly, and she's so goddamn furious with herself. _This isn't fair._

Tear tracks still stain her face as she gingerly traces the tips of her fingers along the smooth surface of his headstone. That's all that remains of him now. He's six feet under, and all that's left is words of how he was a beloved friend and fiancé and how he died a hero—useless words that will never be enough because they don't even begin to describe what a wonderful person he was. But it doesn't really matter, does it? Because none of it is going to bring him back.

"I'm so sorry," she whimpers helplessly. "This is all my fault..."

"No, it's not."

Her body jolts forward, caught off guard by the unexpected voice. She had been so busy wallowing in her misery that she had failed to register the approaching footsteps. For a split second, her heart lifts, but a moment later it drops back down, and her shoulders slump forward. She wonders how he knew she would be here. She wonders why he even bothered to come looking for her in the first place.

"It's not your fault," says Sam, and he sounds defeated and tired.

His fingers run gently through her hair. It's not much, because everything is still so complicated and fucked up. Nonetheless, she appreciates the silent gesture of comfort and relaxes against his touch. She forgets about his accusatory words from earlier that night and instead recalls what he had promised her not that long ago.

"_You won't get rid of me without a fight."_

While she isn't quite sure how long it will take—weeks, months, years—she begins to think for the first time that maybe, just maybe they will be okay.

After all, don't they owe it to Jerry to at least try?


End file.
